


making me a habit (wearing your vintage t-shirt)

by foxgloved



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Cunnilingus, F/F, Hair-pulling, Kissing, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sharing Clothes, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, hand-wavey timeline, mb a character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6019396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxgloved/pseuds/foxgloved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Do you have anything other than leather in your closet?” Clary asks.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	making me a habit (wearing your vintage t-shirt)

**Author's Note:**

> im sweating rn i still cant believe i managed to write this. uhmmm title is from zella day's 'hypnotic', which. that line was what made me write the first part of this but ofc that is a shitty excuse for. porn?? yeah nyways happy valentines day u get TWO clizzy fics 2day... amazin......

“Do you have anything other than leather in your closet?” Clary asks.

Her eyes skirt across Isabelle's wardrobe, catching on the dark jackets and skirts and tops. She twists her lips when her gaze reaches the underwear part of the closet, a flush running into her cheeks, underneath the constellations of freckles.

Isabelle grins at her, shoving her hands onto her hips. “It's hidden somewhere in there,” she says, and Clary's eyes flicker back up to her, interest woven in her gaze. “I'm pretty sure I have some old T-shirts, or something, but they're from when I was, like, thirteen.” She shakes her head, her long dark hair falling back-- it's damp, thick locks wet against her back with the shower she'd taken an hour ago. “They'd probably fit you better than the other clothes.”

Clary rolls her eyes. “If that's a jibe about my height--”

“Relax,” Isabelle says, rolling the _r_ , and she has to bite down hard to swallow the _amado_ that almost slips out, tasting like chocolate as she gulps it back down. She'd just met Clary, after all-- and there was no way to know for sure she wouldn't know what it meant. “I think you'd look nice in it, _mujer_.”

“'Woman'?” Clary repeats, with a little laugh. Ah, so she does know Spanish-- Isabelle is, after all, grateful she hadn't used the first pet name. When she catches Isabelle looking at her, Clary shrugs. “I took Spanish in tenth grade. I'm-- rusty, since I haven't found a use for it yet, but... I still know basic words.”

Isabelle arches an eyebrow, hooking her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans. She leans back, against the harsh stone wall, trying hard not to think about the events of earlier-- her mother, giving her the sideline. _Shadowhunters don't hug_ , she'd said-- or at least something like that, she can't remember exactly-- and then Maryse had hugged Jace. And Alec.

She clears her throat, and snaps herself back to the present-- _don't dwell on things you can't change_ , she tells herself. “You wanna try some of it on? I'm sure I could find it.”

Clary shakes her head, rumpled red hair flaring around her pink face. “Oh, no, that's-- that's fine with me,” she says. Her eyes dart, for a moment-- so fleeting Isabelle thinks she's imagined it-- to Isabelle's lips.

 _Well_.

“You don't have much else to wear, right?” Isabelle looks, askew, at her, at the way she's studying her boots-- Isabelle's boots, really. “So it wouldn't hurt anything. It's okay, you know,” she adds. Maybe Clary thinks she'd be intruding by taking Isabelle's clothes. “I don't mind you wearing my things.”

Clary huffs. “Well... if you're okay with it...”

“More than okay with it,” says Isabelle. She, immediately after, wants to smack herself in the face for it-- really? She's used to being the one to flirt, to smooth her words and bat her eyelashes, not trip over her own goddamn feet.

Clary doesn't seem to have noticed the slip-up, or Isabelle's internal struggle, and is instead looking to the darker reaches of Isabelle's closet. Isabelle sifts through-- wow, she does have _a lot_ of leather, she's never quite noticed before-- racks of clothes until she finds a T-shirt that's soft to the touch. She draws it out, and a pair of shorts she'd worn to sleep follow, both with rounder angles than the leather. Baggier, less body-hugging.

The shirt is worn with age-- it had once been a vibrant green, Isabelle's sure, a memento from when she was about sixteen, but now it's not quite the color of puke, but fairly close. She looks it over, the print on it that says _Made in Idris_ with scattered white lettering, thumbing over it.

“It's not black,” Clary says.

Isabelle laughs. “Jace was joking when he said that our motto was 'looking better in black than the widows of our enemies,' you know,” she says. Clary looks surprised, for a moment, that she knows that-- Isabelle shrugs. “He told us every little detail you wouldn't fill us in on.”

“Oh,” says Clary, and just that. _Oh_.

“Why _'oh'_?” Isabelle asks. She holds out the shirt and the accompanying shorts, shaking her head and her wet hair with it. “No, wait, don't answer that, it doesn't matter. Go put it on!”

She nudges Clary towards the bathroom, nervous laughter-- from Clary, though Isabelle thinks she hears a few giggles of her own slip out ( _giggles!_ )-- drifting around them. Clary eventually says, “Yeah, okay,” and ducks inside, peeking back out after a moment to bring the clothes with her.

Isabelle hovers outside the door, though not close enough to hear the ruffle of clothes. There's a brief silence, her waiting there and Clary poking around in her bathroom, before:

“Oh,” says Clary, again. Isabelle waits, for her to say something more. “You were right, this does fit better than the leather.” She sounds appreciative, and Isabelle laughs, heart skittering in her chest. “Plus it's so much more comfortable.”

When she steps out, Isabelle finds herself caught by her-- dressed in her old shirt, and a pair of old short shorts that barely graze her thighs. Clary smiles at Isabelle, like the-- and Isabelle's aware she's waxing poetics in her own head like one of the damn (albeit rare) romances in the library-- fucking sun, and--

Isabelle... looks at her. Really looks at her, and it's ironic it's now, isn't it, when she'd been wearing such form-fitting clothes before and it's now Isabelle is _looking_ at her. Now, when she's in a baggy T-shirt that sways around her hips, shorts that are short but modest, and her hair hangs at her shoulders, flecked with paint that hadn't washed off in the showers she'd taken--

“You look nice,” she says, realizing that Clary's waiting for her to say something and she's probably drooling. This isn't even meant to be provacative, in any way-- hell, Isabelle'd worn that shirt last when she was sixteen--

But still, she finds herself studying her. It's not-- it's not meant as something shallower than Isabelle thinks it is, because she knows what kind of looks those are (she's had plenty enough given to her, after all), but--

 _You look nice_. The words seem too simple, too... mundane to fit how Clary looks, glowing like the very angel half of her that Isabelle isn't quick to forget.

Clary beams, only brightening herself more. “I think so, too,” she says, and then goes red, looking down at herself. “I mean--”

“No, it's fine,” says Isabelle, cutting her off. “Confidence in yourself is good. It's nothing you have to be ashamed about.” Her heart breaks a little looking at Clary, who thinks it's a bad thing-- she's never understood mundanes and their putting down of women, though, she thinks, it happens enough in the Shadowhunter community as well. “It's a good thing,” she repeats when Clary looks more skeptical at this.

Clary is silent for a few moments more, and she pulls at the edge of her shirt-- Isabelle's shirt, and hell if that doesn't make something low churn in her gut. “It feels a lot nicer than the leather,” Clary comments. She smiles up at Isabelle. “More like the clothes I had back at home. You know, half that stuff was ripped or covered in paints but I still _loved_ it.”

Isabelle laughs, smooth and calmer than she feels. She takes a careful step forwards, noticing how Clary's eyes darken and dart up to her face, and, _oh_ , to her lips--

“Can I kiss you?” Clary is asking--

“ _Yes,”_ Isabelle hears herself say, and Clary does, leaning up into her with her lips parted, and Isabelle presses back into her, traces her hands down her sides so Clary arches up with a low hum. And “Yes,” Isabelle is saying still, a reverent mantra into Clary's lips.

Clary's hands come up to curve around her back, tracing small lines that make Isabelle hiss into the exposed skin through her dress. And she fumbles with Isabelle's zipper, just the smallest quiver in her hand, and Isabelle gives an approving rumble into her mouth and lets her shoulders sink, lets herself give up all her damn control over herself to Clary. She would, in a heartbeat, let Clary push her down and--

And Isabelle breaks the eerie stillness around them by pulling away to let out an actual moan as Clary leans down to press an open-mouthed kiss just beneath her chin. That's always been a soft spot of Isabelle's, and she tightens her grip on Clary's hips, deciding if Clary won't do it she'll just have to pull her own dress down herself. She does, and lets it fall to the floor, stands there in the lace of her bra and the (comfortable, she wouldn't wear one of those too thin thongs that looked like they'd hurt if her life depended on it) soft fabric of her underwear, and she reaches for that, too, before looking over Clary and thinking _no, this is unfair_.

It's almost a shame to take her shirt off of Clary-- she looks so good in it, after all-- but she does, and she hooks it over Clary's head. Clary's underwear is simple enough, and she starts to stutter out an apology-- _yours is so pretty, after all_ , she's saying, but Isabelle shakes her head. “It'll be off soon enough, and it's nice, anyways,” she tells Clary, and Clary smiles at her, and it's just so fucking sweet and kind and Isabelle _melts_.

“Hey, so, um,” Clary cuts in, pausing like she isn't starting to hook her fingers into the back of Isabelle's bra, “I've-- never done this before, and definitely not, ah, with a girl.”

Isabelle smooths her fingers across her face, cupping her cheeks. “It's okay,” she tells her, firm and warm. She's not letting Clary's insecurities swarm over her, not now, because her heart breaks a bit when that sad look crosses Clary's face-- like she thinks Isabelle will be disappointed. “I've never exactly done anything with girls, either, so you're not alone.”

“But you've had _some_ experience,” Clary points out, starting to lean back.

“Hey.” Isabelle pulls her back down, and threads her fingers through Clary's. “It doesn't matter how many people you've slept with-- if it's a hundred or none. All that matters is us, okay?” She lifts her lips into a reassuring smile, tracing her thumb across Clary's knuckles. “And if you want to stop, just let me know and I will. Without any hesitation.”

“You really don't care that I haven't, um--”

“No,” Isabelle says, assures. She settles back. “If you don't want to do this, then I'll go put my clothes back and you'll put your shirt back on and we can just sit and watch one of your mundie movies, or something. It's no big deal, Clary.”

“I want to,” Clary says. She chews her lip, and leans back into Isabelle, pressing another kiss into her lips, but one where both of their mouths are sealed, now, and then she leans back, and pushes them both down onto Isabelle's bed. “I want to,” she repeats, hovering over Isabelle, and Isabelle's fairly sure her brain short-circuits when Clary settles herself over her lap, straddling her hips and resting her arms on Isabelle's shoulders.

“Okay,” says Isabelle. She sits up, hauling Clary into her lap fully, and presses her face into Clary's neck, dusting her hair aside to lick and suck and bite, hard, down onto the juncture between her neck and shoulder blade. “I want to, too.”

“Mm,” Clary says, breathing harsh. She tosses her arms around Isabelle's neck, and arches into her, bringing her fingers back to the hook on Isabelle's bra. “There's one thing in particular I want to do, though. Have wanted to do since the first”-- she groans when Isabelle sucks another mark into her collarbone, too high to be covered up, but hey, Isabelle has makeup in a ton of shades-- “time I saw you.”

“Oh?” A wicked smile darts across Isabelle's lips, and she presses kisses across Clary's neck with new fervor. “And what's that?”

“Eat you out,” Clary says, innocence dripping from her tone, and Isabelle gives a hiss into her neck. Clary's batting her eyes, Isabelle can tell, and she doesn't know how to react and-- “Can I?” Clary asks, like Isabelle hasn't just given her the non-verbal answer.

“ _Yes,”_ she says, anyways, because verbal consent is probably important too, yes.

Clary removes her hands from Isabelle's back, and slips down, her fingers curving across Isabelle's sides to come to a rest at her hips. Isabelle curls her hands around Clary's neck, this time, and watches as she slowly slides down Isabelle's body, keeping their eyes locked the entire time. And, lust coiling in her gaze, Clary keeps watching, and Isabelle bites back a swear when she kisses just above the line of Isabelle's underwear, crooking her fingers into the strap and edging it down.

“Cla-ry,” Isabelle sing-songs, and this isn't right, she's supposed to be the one teasing, but Clary laughs at her, even as she reaches for the locks of flaming hair between her legs and _tugs_ and Clary gives a _groan_ at that. “Please.”

“Do that again,” says Clary, her voice cracking halfway through, “and I'll consider it.”

Isabelle does, and Clary groans again and pulls her underwear all the way down, and then she doesn't even blink after it's hinging off Isabelle's ankles and-- just, fuck, _dives in_. Her tongue scrapes against Isabelle, warm and impossibly hot, and Isabelle pulls her hair again, pulls her in closer so she opens her mouth and-- goes for it--

And Isabelle's insides are burning white-hot, and Clary _sucks_ , and maybe Meliorn was a good lay but he (and all those other boys before him) had never done anything like _this_ , had never taken such damn good care of her, always caring more about their own pleasure. Isabelle crooks her fingers into Clary's scalp, giving another tug, and Clary looks up at her again, smiling even with fluid spread across her lips when she pulls away, for just a second-- before Isabelle drags her back in, thrusting her hips up and--

“ _Fuck_ ,” she breathes, and she thinks she loses control of her languages at that point when Clary _smiles_ into her, and sucks harder, drags her tongue through Isabelle's folds--

Isabelle aches and burns for it and she gives a shout, coming harder than she thinks she ever has against Clary's face, and she pulls Clary up against her as soon as she regains feelings in her legs again. There's a smug smile twitching on Clary's lips, smeared pink and wet and _god_ Isabelle smashes her lips against hers, she just has to.

“Let me take care of you, too,” she says, demands, and rubs along Clary's thighs and takes off her underwear, and curls her fingers along her until she's just _dripping_ against her and then shoves two fingers up and crooks them.

Clary gasps, and moans, and clings to her, grasping her shoulder. “Ah,” she chokes out. “F-- fuck, I--” And Isabelle _twists_ and feels wetness spurt over her fingers, and wipes them off on her bedsheets with a blink, smiling up at Clary.

“Was that good?” she asks.

In response, Clary tosses her arms around her neck and pushes their lips together. “Amazing,” she says, and she looks across the room where the T-shirt she'd been wearing had been tossed. “You know, I really did look good in it.”

Isabelle grins. “Yes you did,” she says.

“As evident by you pouncing on me.” Clary, legs shaking a bit, rises up from the bed, grabbing Isabelle's shoulder for support. “I need, to. Um. Clean off, I think.”

“Mind if I come with?” Isabelle presses kisses into the dip in the back of Clary's neck, twining her arms around her waist and grinning when Clary huffs and pushes her away.

“Come on,” Clary decides, tugging her up by the shoulder. “You probably need to get cleaned up, too.”

Isabelle, uncaring of the fact she'd already taken a shower sixty minutes ago, laughs and takes her hand.

**Author's Note:**

> i almost dont wanna put my tumblr on here but [alas and alack](http://npdsolo.tumblr.com/)


End file.
